A Child at Prayer
by Enosimania
Summary: Loki/OC oneshot. The God of Mischief pays a visit to a misfit Midgardian who has worshiped him for years, during which time she's developed a soft spot for him which he's come to reciprocate. Cue smut with a fetishistic angle.


**This is just a one shot I felt like writing, because I have a thing for somnophilia (sexing people while they're asleep). Enjoy!**

* * *

He watched her as she looked outside, into the station, while they waited for the metro to get moving. It was late afternoon and leaving from one of the larger stations, so the car was packed with people. Brena de Vries, barely 19, bedraggled, caught in her line of sight an amorous couple parting among the busy aggregate. They seemed to be about her age, though it was hard to tell from the distance. The boy was holding the girl by her arms and it would have seemed rough were she not beaming with joy. He bent down from time to time, breaking their animated conversation to kiss her mouth. They still hadn't let go of each other when the metro jerked away.

Turning her attention back inside, Brena caught him looking at her. The exceedingly tall stranger was holding onto one of the yellow poles as they all swayed in the motion, the green and gold scarf around his neck moving gently, elegantly, like his whole figure. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit over a white shirt, tie, an overcoat. A black mane brushing the base of his neck, skin as white as bone - perfect bones set in sharp angles - and a pair of green eyes completed the devil's portrait. He smiled at her. She was too numb with surprise to smile back and instead looked down. She didn't seem abashed but rather disinterested, he noted with some disappointment. Then again, Loki wasn't there to embarrass her.

Brena was one of the few odd mortals who still prayed to him; oddly, sparingly, unlike the others, but she did. She was still a novice at worship, though she had him as her patron of sorts since she was sixteen. She also didn't have a mischievous bone in her body, but he didn't mind - what he preferred was a keen interest in things, sharpness of mind and an equally sharp sense of responsibility for ones mistakes, of which she had plenty.  
Small and thin, gauche but possessing of a fae grace, she was an acquired taste. Her lips were exceedingly full, set between a small chin and a small nose, and she hated that about herself but Loki could easily find her features charming (if only she would look up from the ground). Her eyes too were large, wide, innocent, smouldering black and thickly framed like those of a colt. She took to tying her hair at all times, often messily and completely unflattering. Her clothes hung around her shapelessly. In spite of her lack of sophistication, she wasn't at all poor. Her family was middle class and very comfortable. Loki knew their type well: loving parents, overbearing, ambitious for her, disenchanted with each other.

Brena was adopted and she knew that. It had hung like a stone on her soul for a long time. She looked nothing like her parents and looked conspicuously out of place among her nordic fellows, giant, blonde, blue eyed and happy. She didn't even know where she came from, though her parents said they thought she came from Italian stock. As a subconscious consequence, the girl didn't know what to think of herself, what her position in the world was, what she wanted to be. She only knew what she should be, namely what her parents told her. She was pathetic, but Loki sympathised with her. While he did not need her worship, he enjoyed her awkward, stumbling, respectful, sincere prayers. Like a dissonant chant against the everything else, her thoughts and attentions had surprised him when they came, but soon Loki was looking forward to them. Her distractions were a welcome thing in his Asgardian life, and he kept her as secret as he could (partly for fear that he would be laughed at, partly out of a strange possessiveness, a cocktail of love and shame).

She had stumbled upon him through fiction while they were studying the genre of folklore in literature. Gifted with an imagination too ardent for atheism, she was naturally religious. Her choice of religion was as confused as her identity, and so almost guiltily she tried him out. At first Brena didn't think she had any place praying to Norse gods and she almost gave up, but slowly she eased into it. Her beliefs were still half hearted but they suited her, and slowly they helped make her feel like she belonged where she lived.

The metro pulled to a stop, causing Loki to stumble out of his contemplation. There was a mass exodus at that station and he can't have been more grateful for it; only a hand full of people came in this time, and soon they were off again. Brena looked up as she made room for new passengers, but this time she didn't look down right away. Loki followed her gaze to see what had caught it, and with an internal groan he found what fascinated her. It was a brooding youth with a shock of blonde hair peeking above the high held collar of a black coat, icy blue eyes, somewhat taller than she, lean looking from the way the coat hung on him - it was a cold October day. A backpack hung on one shoulder and his hands were shoved in his pockets. Without sparing a glance for any of the passengers, he made his way to the front and sat, his back to his audience. Brena let her lips part for one small sigh before she found herself and looked down again, only now and then sneaking her eyes back up to look at the boy. Loki had a feeling he knew why she liked that stranger. She seemed partial to the mysterious types, and she liked them as fair as she was dark but she was very particular about the style.

The God of Mischief also had an idea as to why, maybe, Brena had taken to him over other gods. The book she found him in was illustrated - quite crudely and tastelessly, he thought - by one John Bauer. The pictures were nothing like him, but he could see why an impressionable young mortal like Brena might find them "appealing". She liked Arthur Rackham's versions as well. What they had in common was a young and vaguely effeminate but decidedly fit looking god with light hair - sometimes yellow, sometimes red, slightly curled - perpetually playful and faintly evil. As she edged into womanhood, the girl that ignored him favoured men who fit her illusion of what he was like.  
Loki swallowed his wounded pride as he was used to doing and listened to the girl's prayers anyway. Until the day before, they were quotidian, if occasionally amusing splinters of Midgardian life, but not that night.

It was to be expected, given how internalised her sexual life was. Brena had no confidence to approach boys her age - of any age - and none of the confidence to accept their interest either, on the rare occasions when she was approached. She liked him though, or rather Bauer's representations of him - Loki casually contemplated scouring the universe for the man's soul and ripping it to pieces. And on that night she called Loki's name in a torturous and delicious kind of prayer.

He was talking about something with Thor and trying to get a word in edge-ways with Volstagg when he felt the pull at the back of his mind, a distracting sense of lust together with the unmistakable feeling of Brena. He excused himself and went straight to his room from where, with his mind's eye, Loki could scrutinize his little worshiper in her dark room. She was prone and shivering, her window opened to let in the sounds of rain and traffic from the street to drown out the moans that escaped her. She was beautifully nude, but only the top half of her could be visible from under the covers, her nipples hardened from the cold. Her left hand was extended toward the wall and she kept it strangely straight, while her right hand jerked between her legs at a quick pace. Back arching, head tilted back, hair fanning in inky tentacles, lips parted, bitten, gasping, mouthing his name, she looked the very picture of love, and she was thinking about him. Loki had felt himself grow beneath the confining leather of his trousers faster than he ever had before, and at that moment he thought he could grant her anything she asked for - though she never really asked for much.  
She was begging then, though it seemed an automatic reaction to the rapture. Her hand faltered and started moving more languidly, lower: she had slipped her fingers inside, coaxing wetness onto them, softly pressing against a part of her that made her spine twist. She buried her lips in her arm - she was imagining herself bound, he realised - and chocked on his name as she pressed her fingers inside harder, adding a third, stretching herself for him.

Loki was hazily aware of a feeling of confusion. He was more firmly aware of the ache in his groin, and that she was begging, and that technically speaking she had just opened the way for him to give her what she asked for.  
Suddenly her left arm got free of its stiff "bonds" and went behind her, slithering down to rest on her backside as she rubbed her clit with her right again. She then pushed the fingers of her left hand inside, first one, then two, then made an effort of flexibility and shoved a third into her sopping cunt, moving them harshly in and out while keeping her back bent in such a way that it did not crush her arm. Brena's right hand spend at the doubled pleasure, and she shut her eyes, clenched her teeth, pressed her head into the pillow. Her hips started thrusting up and down to make more of the friction and her breath sped with exertion and lust.

Loki could hear her sweet wincing and the increasingly desperate, obsessive cries of his name. He was just about ready to dash to the Bifrost and travel to her when he realised that she really wasn't thinking about him. Brena was thinking about the Loki she knew from books and Bauer: the blonde and impish misunderstood hero, worlds away from the dark second son of Asgard. He would probably frighten her if he appeared in her room - would she even believe he was who he said he was? In the back of his mind he knew he could shift himself to look like she wanted him to, but he would not trade the pain in his loins for a pain in his heart. He cringed at the thought of her loving what was practically someone else.

Brena finally came with his broken name on her lips, bending forward before collapsing back on her bed. Her left hand relaxed and she replaced it with the right again, still thrusting but slowly, pressing the spots she liked and luxuriating in the fresh wetness. She turned to her side and gave a rare warm smile, snuggled beneath the sheets that she had warmed with her body.  
"I'm sorry." she whispered, believing that he could hear. Brena spoke English fluently and had for years preferred it in private and in prayer, taking to thinking in English from early adolescence. It felt like a neutral language and therefore somewhat of a balm in her confused internal life. "I'm sorry…" she said again, now nuzzling the pillow as if it were a lover's chest. "I hope you don't mind, I just… I couldn't help myself, you know how much I like you." The girl was rambling now. Loki could almost feel her exhaustion himself, though he still had a lot of energy to burn when she was done talking to him. "You're so beautiful. And you're so good to me, so good…" she groaned wantonly, touching herself briefly one more time. "Oh Loki…"

The metro pulled in at another station, and the god almost tripped at the surprising halt. Those coats were very useful, he thought as he pulled it to cover his front. Looking up sheepishly at Brena, he found the girl still looking down, still looking characteristically morose, not giving any hint of the vixen he knew her to be. The boy that had caught her eye got off at that stop, and she couldn't help a longing look his way. If Loki didn't feel murderously about him, he might have been sad for her. She got off two stops after that.

The following week he continued in his routine of watching her from Asgard, but she seemed even sadder than before. A little light shined in her life when she was invited to spend the day out with some old friends in a nearby city. She had put off seeing them for so long, mostly out of shyness, that she couldn't bring herself to refuse again. Brena was carrying a torch for one of them but felt - perhaps rightfully - inadequate for him. As far as her god was concerned, the boy was a delinquent and ill fit for her, and Loki was disappointed that she didn't take the hint when she "accidentally" bought the wrong ticket (twice). Brena went anyway; she groomed herself all morning for it, which hinted at a certain degree of excitement and hope.

A two hour train ride later, she met with them, and they were together all day until late at night and the whole thing was horrible for her. Brena had actually looked pretty, the way she dolled herself up for the boy. She had ridden the train in the morning filled with anxiety, and then riding it back at midnight she sat in a suppressed sadness, nervous and afraid of traveling alone at that time, though somehow uncaring of the vague dangers as she mulled over the disappointments of the day.

Loki saw her riding back alone, and in the northern distance he saw her friends continue without her into late night drinking. Her boy seemed interested in a perky redhead, and the god felt somewhat relieved at the sight. With any luck, his chance at charming Brena was shattered forever.  
Feeling generous and playful - perhaps the better word would be "mischievous" - Loki decided to wait for her in her room: her housemates (she was a student at the local university) were away for the weekend, which meant she could scream and be frightened and then scream again in delicious ecstasy while he took her the way she wanted and needed. He could make her forget about all the boys she had ever seen. He could give a new meaning to her worship.  
Heimdall was a little reluctant to accommodate Loki, but having no reason to deny him the trip, he let him go to Midgard. It didn't take the young prince long to make his way into Brena's house, and by the time he was inspecting her room physically for the first time, he knew the girl still had an hour of traveling to do.

She took her time in getting home, and Loki was itching with anticipation, perked on her bed and ready for whatever she would throw at an oddly dressed but still rather dashing stranger.  
Yet when he heard her unlock the front door and take her shoes and coat off, the chime of keys was accompanied by hysterical sobs. Loki could tell her silhouette behind the foggy-window of her bedroom door, and she seemed to be going through her normal routine. He shrouded himself before she entered her room and turned the light on, moving out of the way while staying invisible to watch her. She moved normally indeed, but her steps faltered with her breath, broken by crying and fresh tears streamed down her not-yet-red face.  
She deliberately avoided looking into any of the large mirrors in the hallway, in her room, humbly staring at the ground as she took her jewelry off - a cold and heavy jade necklace that Loki loved on her, and rough stone earrings that matched - and then her clothes, tossing the unusually elegant (for her) sweater at the back of the wardrobe, then unclasping her chest free, then slipping off the black trousers. It was at this point that Loki's mouth had gone dry. Her firm breasts jumped at every sharp sigh, the tips hardened from the cold of the room, and this coupled with the way the silky stockings gripped her legs and waist made her figure perversely beautiful; she slipped those off too, with an elegance he hadn't suspected her of. Still crying, barely breathing, moving like a thoughtless creature with a despairing face, she ambled near-naked into the bathroom.  
The sight of her frightened him, disappointed him, and then quite angered him. His night with the girl was ruined because of that uncouth whelp. Brena was beside herself with distress and loneliness, and Loki noted with a deep ache that she didn't so much as talk to him or ask for anything.

It was a further cruelty of fate how she walked in front of him in just a strip of lace that hugged her tender bottom, her hair let loose to tease the tips of her breasts. She had probably fashioned herself that way for the boy. The makeup had faded but she was still beautiful to the Asgardian.  
He stayed invisible in a corner, awkward and helpless while he waited for her to be done with her sobbing. It was late enough and she had to be tired…

Brena didn't eat and didn't read, or do any of the things she normally did before bed. After half an hour of feeling sorry for herself, she brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, and laid in bed - by now fully nude, as she liked it when sleeping alone in a house. The sheets cooled her skin but not her head, and Brena cried to herself for a while longer until finally exhaustion caught up with her and the pathetic wincing stopped.

Loki had taken the time to explore her things in the darkness, reading the stub of the train ticket, some bills for a meal and drinks, finding a new plush toy in a bag - a stuffed gray creature with tusks - and other hints of what must have happened that day.  
Standing now at the foot of the bed, watching her even breaths and the little heart beats that thumped against her breast, the god was overcome by a feeling of helplessness. The new silence of the room felt strange, as if the ghosts of her sobs lingered in the corners. But in spite of that unfortunate turn to his day, Loki could still feel a stubborn throb in his loins, pulsing perverse and as trapped by circumstance as he was.

Climbing on the bed gingerly, the green eyed god inspected the girl closer. Her face was buried beneath her hair; her hands pillowed her head. The covers were easy to drag away, and inch by fragile inch he revealed more. Brena's body stirred a little at the draft, but she didn't wake.  
A yellowish light from the street fell on her body, and then on his as he dropped his invisibility. The only sounds of the moment were the rare occasional rumbles of passing vehicles - it must have been around 3 am.

Dragging a hand lightly over the contours of her body, Loki could feel the heat radiating off her. His palm only touched the angled hip and then further up the sharp tip of her breast before it reached her face and picked the strands of hair away. With the gentlest touch of his lean fingers, Loki traced the dried salt of her tears and brushed it away, blowing softly over her skin. He willed the bed to be still while he leaned over her, tasting her mouth - it too was salty - as timidly as his growing lust could allow.  
His burning lips fell to the column of her throat next, then her chest, and then the roundness of her breast. Gaining courage when he saw she didn't stir, Loki took her nipple in his mouth and suckled languidly. Her stomach shivered but she remained otherwise still, and the dark prince kept his eyes on her face when they weren't closed in rapture at the feeling of her hardened peak between his lips, against his tongue. As if feeling his mouth's adoration, Brena's body turned and she then lay on her back.

With his tongue lavishing love on one breast and his fingers teasing the tip of the other, Loki suddenly felt his evening's prospects improving. He afforded himself a groan deep in his throat at the odd sweetness of the moment, and soon enough he felt hard enough to shatter Brena to the core if he wanted to. The god lifted himself from her and admired his good work, her blushing breasts, and absently pawed himself over his trousers. He was almost breathless with excitement, especially since the exercise had teased him more than it had her.

Scooting lower on the bed, Loki appraised the sleeping girl one more time before touching her legs, then pushing a little, trying the depth of her sleep. Brena moved slightly, but still didn't seem to wake. He considered it was perhaps better that way…  
Inching her legs apart, he moved between them and lowered himself. She was only the slightest bit wet, possibly due to his playing with her breasts, but there was still time for her to get wetter.

With a larger dose of courage Loki pressed his lips to her inner thigh, testing her, then slowly trailing upwards until his lips met the soft slit. Pressing kisses, blowing gently on her lips, he made her flower pulse in time with his manhood, opening and closing teasingly for him. Soon he felt sure enough of himself that he could wrap his lips around her clit and suck there too. He didn't dare make his armor vanish, just in case she did wake up, but Brena only breathed a little faster and shifted her hips.

Not long after he started playing with her clit, pulling it gently deeper into his mouth where he rubbed against it the tip of his tongue, the girl started making suckling noises of her own. Loki looked up and grinned at the sight of her lips parting and pressing against each other in a broken rhythm. Touching a finger to her folds, he found her gushing wet, and when he dragged his tongue up her lips and back to the hardened point he heard her groan and felt her shiver in what was probably a light orgasm.

Loki put his mouth back to her bundle of nerves, now enveloping it more bravely and dragging his teeth up and down the erect little thing. The finger that had felt her, he lifted to her mouth and he let her suckle and taste it. Brena's fleshy mouth wrapped around it gladly, unconsciously, and he wondered whether she would taste as sweetly to herself as she did to him.

When she started to drip down her skin, Loki removed his flushed face from between her legs and his fingers from her mouth, and settled himself on his knees in front of her. With his eyes trained on Brena's quiet face, he willed his clothing away and breathed a sigh of relief when all the constrictions disappeared. His length strained against his skin as it hung, pointed at her, pulsing with blood and desire. Shifting his light eyes from her exposed cunt to her face and back again, the god of mischief tried his luck and leveled his leaking erection to her opening, groaning with the effort of restraint, prodding gently but not quite pushing in yet. He was ready to enchant her into a deeper, unbreakable sleep at the first sign of a stir, but the dear thing hardly moved before he started pressing against her in earnest. After he got the head past her lips, Loki feared she could take no more, and with a wave of his hand assured his quietness for the evening. With that security, he shoved into her, parting her fragile skin with his thick shaft and pressing to go as deep as her body allowed.

Wet with her juices and his earlier attentions, and even relaxed from her earlier release, Brena was still tortuously tight. The prince-turned-incubus moaned in half-pain at the velvet grip of her, at once soft but terribly confining. Bracing his arms on either side of the girl, Loki shoved further, pulling back then thrusting in again and going further every time. After a few more cants of his hips, he could look down and see himself slipping almost seamlessly in and out, though he could still feel her snug hold of him.  
Gripping her hips freely now that he didn't fear her waking up, Loki pulled himself back and her up, holding the girl to him as he fucked her at a leisurely pace. His head tilted back with a groan as he focused solely on the sensation of her soft skin around him.

The god felt somewhat sorry that she wasn't awake to enjoy his deflowering of her, but life was filled with imperfections even for the Aesir. From the throb he felt around him though, there was definitely a part of her that was aware and happy of what was happening, and who was to say that part was any lesser than another? Loki was certainly enjoying himself, more than he expected with a silent partner. He knew he would have enjoyed her moans - which would have been louder than what she could coax out of herself - and her demure beginning and her voluptuous end, and then her begging when he took her beyond the point of pleasure into pain and rendered her sore. But this situation was certainly more cautious for their relationship, and perhaps less stressful for her. In the back of his lust-addled mind, the dark prince knew she would probably never accept to do this sort of thing, or even ever see in private any figure he would present to her for 'casual meetings', and he still refused to alter himself very much even for her sake.

Loki started thrusting more violently, desperately wanting to feel her cum at least once around his shaft, and he took a finger to the swollen mound that crowned her lips and rubbed and flicked it and did anything he could think of to it, until he felt her finally shiver inside and grip him mercilessly. Loki's rhythm faltered and he let go of her to brace himself on the bed before he almost collapsed, gasping at the force of her muscles as they still fluttered around him while the sleeping form mewled softly. Picking up where he left off, the god started fucking her again, harder and faster, and after a few more wild thrusts he felt himself shiver, let go, and released into her with a grateful moan of her name.

He lowered himself gingerly on the girl, not yet content to remove himself from her. Loki showered Brena with caresses and words of adoration she would never remember; his hand went to her breast, her throat, her cheek, then rested on her waist as he pushed himself up and kissed the corner of her mouth.

Brena woke up groggily the next morning, as she expected, and felt miserable, as she expected. She was hungry and felt dirty, but the soreness between her legs was completely surprising. A hint of blood made her think the apparently obvious, but as the day went on it appeared not to be so. She was too distracted with other worries to devote more time to that mystery, anyway.


End file.
